“Really, now!”

“Yes. (Oh dear me, dear me!) And he’s buried quite in this neighbourhood, you know. Over yonder.”

Mr. Wegg does not know, but he makes as if he did, by responsively nodding his head. He also follows with his eyes, the toss of Venus’s head: as if to seek a direction to over yonder.

“I took an interest in that discovery in the river,” says Venus. “(She hadn’t written her cutting refusal at that time.) I’ve got up there⁠—never mind, though.”

He had raised the candle at arm’s length towards one of the dark shelves, and Mr. Wegg had turned to look, when he broke off.